self-portrait with orange scarf

the bottom

this february thing (and it really is a february thing, as a quick glimpse at last year's february entries confirmed), it does always end up ending. my yoga teacher (i mean the friendly man on the DVD) says that you can only remain in a state of depression for a few 'minutes' at a time. and although clearly that was an oral typo, and he must have meant 'weeks', i agree that the dip is a finite state. it's a pit with a bottom. i know, because i just hit it.

two days ago. i bought 2 kilos of mussels from the local supermarket. (and for those of you who wonder why i would do such a thing: because we love mussels, because they fall under my vegeterian level 1 diet, because they are very very easy to prepare, healthy, and fun to eat). i was standing in the kitchen in front of a sink full of cold water and mussels. shuffling the mussels around. Marc walked in and wanted to know how i could tell a good mussel from a not-so-good mussel. i held one up for his inspection, it was slightly open, i pressed on its shell and the mussel closed with a swishy snap (yes, that is possible). 'see,' i said, 'this one is alive, so it's good!'. there was a silence. a watery swishy mussely kind of silence. 'they are alive?????' asked my rather ignorant husband. 'yes'. 'and you put them in boiling water????'. more of that silence. and then my stomach turned. it was as if the floor had shifted under my feet. i felt dizzy. there was a buzzing sound in my ears. 'i am sorry, i can't do this', i said. shook my wet hands over the sink, and walked out of the kitchen.

well, he couldn't 'do it' either. so we decided to free them. and ate a veggie burger instead. the mussels spent the night in a bucket filled with water on the kitchen floor (actually, not any old bucket, but the special diaper bucket we bought for all those organic cotton diapers we were going to use for Antoine and which i still haven't had the time/courage to put up for sale on e-bay, pristine and unused as they are) (but that's another bottom altogether). they (the mussels, not the cotton diapers) were supposed to be freed on sunday morning, first thing. Marc was to cycle to the beach with the diaper bucket and do the happy deed. but sunday morning was busy, sunday afternoon busier, sunday night too dark, monday morning too sleepy.

now i have a diaper-bucket full of dead mussels in the middle of my kitchen floor. and every time i think about them, i feel like crying.

and that. is. a typical. february. bottom.

musing

truth is a slippery bar of soap in a warm lavender-oil-filled tub: you can try your best to hunt it down, or you can just lie back, relax and enjoy. and who knows, it might just drift straight into your hand.

there is this little big piece of truth that i have been diligently trying to catch for some time: what is it that i'm missing in life? all i want is to enjoy time with my children and to feed my soul (by giving the artist in me some time to work, some time to play, some time to move, some time to muse, some time to snooze). and the ingredients are right here: the children (two, loveliest of the loveliest, truly magnificent adorable, fantasmagorically delicious creatures), the time (boh with the children and without them), the tools of the trade (a pen, a notebook, a handful of wonderful friends, some yoga dvds, meditation cds, books and books and more books, a beach, a forest, a sewing machine, a stereo, a computer, two hands, two feet, one heart). and yet...

why is it that i spend most of my days with my children wondering how many hours there are before evening comes and i am free, and then spend most of my evenings missing my children like crazy and talking about what i will do with them the next day (or, alternatively, eating chocolate in front of the telly)? why do i spend entire child-filled weeks fantasizing about the miracles soon to come out of my busy sewing hands, only to spend my sewing day listlessly leafing through some magazines and wishing Marc and the children would come home soon? why am i constantly coveting other people's lives, bodies, homes, camera's, backyards, professions, creations, nationalities and blogs? why does it seem so often like the thing that i'm looking for is 'just around the corner'? like the truth, the final and absolute truth that will set me free is lurking in the very next book, the one i am just now, at this very moment, ordering from amazon.com?

when really, all this time, it's just been floating around in my bathtub.

it's that living-in-the-moment thing. AGAIN. and that acceptance thing. AGAIN. the walls this donkey loves to bang her head upon. here is a little experiment i'd like to try. just for a few days. it's called 'groundFog day'. in the days to come, whenever i find myself wishing i were someplace (or sometime) else, instead of counting the seconds/minutes/hours to freedom, i will imagine that in fact, i'm stuck in this moment, the one i don't seem to be liking that much, forever and ever and ever. this is it, this baby-with-the-massive-cold-who-just-won't-sleep-at-three-hours-past-his-bedtime-but-instead-is-destroying-what-is-left-of-my-left-breast-and-singing-happily-to-himself-while-clawing-at-me-with-nails-that-should-have-been-cut-a-week-ago. this is my life. this moment. forever and ever.

feel the despair. get past the despair. relax. breathe (AGAIN? yep). and then, weirdly enough, start enjoying. or at least, accepting. off we go, then. on to deal with the chirping next door. wish me luck.

you only live once...

... and life is short. so should one:

a) enjoy it all as much as possible?
b) do as many great/useful/good things as possible?

the lapsed-catholic, azerbajdzhani/belgian-bon-vivant, gypsy-festival-dancing-queen, mango/mint/vanilla/cardammom/citrus/tomato/fig-obsessed, moon-gazing/star-struck/sunshine-absorbing, tree-hugging, nonsensical-poem-writing and utterly-enamoured-with-every-breath-my-children-take part of me votes for A.

the hard-working/dedicated/ecologically-aware/feminist/serious/idealistically-enclined/ever-self-improving and slightly deranged calvinist in me votes for B.

the jury is still out.

meet the other ballerina

my girl

she's still into The Jungle Book (every day begins with: "let's play that you are walking through the jungle when suddenly you see ...")(we still listen daily to the soundtrack, although now in English, rather than Dutch)(since English is another thing she's into)(due to a slight misunderstanding (ahem! who, me???? incredulous expression), her English rendition of Shanti's song is somewhat less offensive than the original ('mother's hunting in the forest, father's cooking in the home...'))(... and she does brilliant bum-wriggling imitations of Balloo, as well as fantastic yoga-inspired imitations of Colonel Hathi's walk).

she is also into ballet in general and Peter and the Wolf in particular, in which she performs all the characters, except the wolf (because bad), the wall (because boring) and the grand-father (don't dare to guess...)("mama, lie down here and put your feet up in the air so you can do the pond!").

finally, she's into high heels. which we as the powers that be fail to approve of. to her great disappointment ("mama, let's say i am seventeen now and my feet have stopped growing... so, you're walking through the jungle, when suddenly you see a beautiful dancing princess with high heels... and then you say...").

besotted

Miepie Papoen...

... en haar kalkoen.

not spring yet

sewing II

... the thing about the sewing machine is, once i start moving, i just have to keep moving, so i decided to make us all some placemats and matching napkins. two down. two to go. her set is all pink flowers (surprised?).

sewing I

in the end, i temporarily parked the hurdle/shyness/paralysis thing and went ahead and sewed something. a jumper/dress item. which i would have loved to show you, except the delighted, pink-hairband-(jane-fonda-style)-wearing recipient/model refused to stand still long enough...

lunch on the beach

arpège

mon bouchon
mon bout
ton
mon
buisson
mon bruit
son
bruit
semant
(un frisson)

mandibule
(m'en dit bule)
somnambule
mon bidule
mon bébé

lent

my therapist sent me an idea for a 40-day sobriety spin for lent. between february 6 (today) and march 16 (far, far away), one is meant to:

1. Do something good for someone every day (financially or otherwise)
2. Meditate, chant or do mantra for at least 30 min. every day
3. Listen to (part of) the Mathheus Passion (Bach) or some other inspiring piece of music every day
4. Refrain from killing any living creature (including flies and mosquitoes) and therefore eat vegeterian
5. Refrain from speaking ill of others, lying and swearing
6. Refrain from consuming candy, alcohol, cigarettes and drugs
7. Refrain from stealing, in the widest sense of the word
8. No TV
9. Limited internet (only if necessary for work-related and other unavoidable reasons)
10. No purchases (except the strictly necessary)

i read it and thought: YES, i'm on!

... and then quickly became depressed.

the thing is, i'm already doing most of these things most of the time, and the other thing is, it has recently come to my attention that all these great wise principles, i haven't been applying them very greatly wisely.

i have not been gentle. i have not been kind. i have pulled the strings too tight for too long, and the beautiful ideas have turned to ash in my hands and ash in my mouth. in other words, i am oh so virtuous, but i've lost the joy.

and that is a terrible terrible thing.

so here is my adapted list, entitled "Joyful Guilt-Free Lent":

1) do something good for someone every day, in thought, word or deed.
2) meditate. every day.
3) listen to beautiful music every day.
4) limited TV (nourishing, not depleting)
5) limited internet (ditto)
6) limited purchasing (ditto)
7) eat what you want to eat, but eat it consciously. and be thankful for it.
8) dance. every day.
9) sing. every day.
10) be thankful. every day.

Aaaah! that's better. large stone removed from chest.

singing to his frog

lesson in unschooling 2

wednesday morning, 10 o'clock. three hours away from her second ballet lesson.

- so, you're going to ballet again this afternoon... that's nice!
- i don't want to go.
- why not?
- i want to learn to dance.
- ... well, that's why you're going to ballet...
- ... but when do we start learning to dance then?
- you already did, last week...
- no, we didn't, we just had to sit, and walk and stand. that's not dancing.

(i was about to point out that sitting and walking and standing are all necessary preliminary steps, that you first learn that, and then you learn to dance. but i stopped. and pondered. was this really true??? i knew exactly what she meant, and i also knew she was right: sitting and walking and standing because somebody tells you to has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with dancing...)

- well, why don't you try it one or two more times, and if you still don't like it, you can stop.
- ... ok... but then you speak to the juffie, and ask her when we will learn to dance!

(i swear to you, unschooling is going to help me get over many social hurdles... flying over them, as it were, face first, straight into the mud...)

want to help me hang up the wash?

sure, you do the wash, i'll make a drawing...

imbolc

shy

i have been shy of writing on my own blog: how crazy is that? granted, it was january, never the best time of year (too little light, too much wind, too much rain, too much flu, too much time before spring), and i had just happened to take this massive paradigm-shift decision, unschooling, the ripples of which will continue to follow us through many years to come... but still, what's there to be shy about?

too shy to write about the doubts, the fears, the panick attacks. too nervous to write answers to the questions those of you who know me 'live' have been asking (mostly 'WHY???????'), the concerns you have been expressing (mostly 'WHY????????). that bit of shy is understandable: taking such a funny, out-of-the-way turn, everything shaky and open, unsettled, that makes it hard to share the underside, the underbelly. it feels too vulnerable, too new. you might snatch it away from me.

but too shy to write about the victories, the YESSSS moments, the hours of complete and unshaking confidence in the truth and rightness of this particular path for us right now. too shy to share the amazing freedom sensation, the reclaiming of our own territory, of our own lives, snatched at the last moment from the jaws of the inexorable machine. free now, to explore, and have fun, and enjoy and learn, learn, learn, until we collapse in a pile, sated. the exhilaration, the happiness. the power of it all. too shy to write about that????

yes. too shy.

whelps

ballerina

unschooling lesson 1

in the car on the way home from the zoo:
- Mama, I'm the little baby monkey with the orange hair, and you are the black mama monkey...
- Ok... would you like a slice of dried mango?
- Do monkeys like dried mango?

i must confess that up until now, when faced with the buckets of questions regularly and casually emptied over my head by my favourite girl, i have tended to answer, at random, one of the following:
'of course they do!'
'of course they don't!'
'i don't know... what do you think?' (and then not listen to the answer...)

but now there is unschooling. and i am learning all the time. so i thought about it, and figured that they probably do. like dried mango slices.

- Mama, my favourite colour is pink. do monkeys like pink too?
- ...i don't know. i don't know that monkeys know about colour. but i'll tell you what: we can find out...

(in case you're interested, it turns out that our monkey is Old World, which means it can probably see pink. if it had been New World, however, it would probably only be able to see blues and greens, unless it was a night monkey, in which case, it would have had black and white vision) (incidentally, this sheds no light (of any colour) on the question of whether this particular monkey liked pink)

her own yoga

ahem...

(imagine a picture of my face shyly peeking from behind a curtain-like object. some avoiding of eye-contact. some shuffling of feet)

...i've been away. having a fit. a major paradigmatic overhaul. it is very difficult to imagine that two weeks ago, my biggest source of anxiety was a list of new year resolutions. sometime between now and then, new shit has come to light. Isabelle tried going to school. i tried Isabelle going to school. Isabelle going to school didn't agree with either of us. so i resurrected a vague memory, an instinct, a stirring in the gut, something i had put away a long time ago, just in case i might one day grow big enough to fit into it. homeschooling. unschooling. amazing stuff. the alternative, the other option.

within two days, in a whirlwind of excitement, fear and trepidation, with some really good deep connected moments thrown in, i

a) cancelled Isabelle's school subscription
b) signed her up for a dance class
c) found and made contact with a mailinglist for local homeschooling mums
d) talked on the phone for at least 17 hours
e) talked off the phone for at least as many
f) told my parents-in-law
g) dealt (with varying degrees of compassion and understanding) with three major howling sessions with Isabelle, who has so far been brain-washed that she believes if she does not go to school (that place that gives her nightly nightmares and nettle-rash, not to mention diarrhea), she will not be 4 years old anymore.
h) read, read, and read some more.
i) moved from despair and loss to triumph and strength. and back. a few times. 'treating those two impostors just the same', i.e. lying low and waiting for the wind to change.
j) came up with a list of 'advantages of homeschooling from the perspective of a four-year old' (you get to go to bed when you are tired, not when we say you should, you don't have to do stuff you don't like (she is taking this one very literally indeed), you get to do 'ballet' and 'turnen', you get to learn to embroider, you have more time to play with the goat (should you have a goat))
k) told my mum.
l) came up with a list of interesting people who were home-schooled (Pippi Langkous, Pluk, Aaagje, the children of Bolderburen, Mowgli (and Shanti), etc.)
m) declared myself insane. repeatedly.
n) declared myself utterly sane. repeatedly.
o) had many nightmares. only some of them at night (she will learn nothing, ever, she will blame me, she will be a social pariah, she will hate me for the rest of her life).
p) reassured myself in the morning with the realization that all of the items under (o) have just as much (if not more) chance of happening if i do send her to school.
q) found out that the Netherlands are crazy where homeschooling is concerned, so that i'll have to brave the Law as well as public (and private) opinion.
r) found out that my friends were not lying when they said 'i will stand by you no matter what'.
s) found out my husband really is my best friend.
t) shamelessly bought new books.

so here we are. wobbly, slightly fuzzy, but here. the first morning. the world is new. it is ours. this is the most learning i will ever do. and i am as ready as i'll ever be.

zen

my son only has two basic facial expressions. whenever he sees something (animal, vegetable, mineral), he is surprised. very surprised.

and then, after a while, he is pleased.

can you get more zen than that? the very essence of a meditative life, of a life lived in the moment: see everything as if for the first time. accept it completely and unconditionally. i have a grand master on the premises. now only the learning to do (which for some reason always amounts to more than having a master on the premises).

(more zen news: received fantastic gift in the mail from fantastic friend. timing of gift also fantastic as have just completed 40-day 'interestingly challenging' arm meditation for burning out inner anger. unfortunately, while trying to pick up an (empty) box of christmas decorations this morning, i strained my back and have been lying flat ever since. providing me with much opportunity to read the booklet, but none to sit and meditate. patience. patience. more learning to do)

resolution

this is the spot where my computer used to be. but more on that later.

early january is here: good old new year resolutions time. previously, i mean in my former, un-enlightened un-self-knowledgeable life, i would have had many such resolutions lined up, all ready to go. change your life completely in one day, i.e. January 1st. have your life collapse straight back into its former shape, i.e. January 5th. yes... beautiful though they were, they did not last long, those new year resolutions of yonder years... so this year i thought a bit harder (i know i promised not to do that anymore, but it's a nasty habit) and looked back a bit longer.

and saw that in fact, in 2007, i successfully and seemingly painlessly acquired some fantastic new habits (daily yoga, daily meditation, almost daily cold shower, almost daily writing in my journal, regular walking, etc.). the 40 days thing. you saw it coming, right?

so, 2008 has approximately 360 days (they tell me). that's 9 times 40 days. that's 9 habits to acquire or lose. taking my time to build each one before moving on to the next. and allowing empty spaces for some of them to appear in the course of the year. in the disorder and so far, we have:

1) a regular writing practice (not journal-writing, not dream-recording, but proper non-belly-button-staring- fiction-or-non-fiction writing)(i think every day for 40 days, and then maybe reduce to 5 times a week, so i can breathe from time to time);

2) no more sugar. that's it. cold turkey. without return. the end of the sugar addiction (you wouldn't believe it now, but once upon a time, it was olives and crackers that got me out of bed at night, but now, oh... chocolates, chocolates, how i shall miss you...);

3) reduced computer-time (i've noticed that this one pops up regularly on people's resolution lists this year) (resolution lists that i have glimpsed using the computer, haha) (anyway, the idea is to reduce non-work-related computer time to three uninterrupted slices of 45 minutes a week) (as opposed to the usual 'wait, honey, mama is just going to check ONE little thing on the computer...' only to emerge google-eyed two hours later to find an exploded household and neglected wailing babes...);

(in the context of (1) and (3) i moved my computer from its former position at the heart of the living-room to the icy cold reaches of Marc's room upstairs. the old school-desk it used to pollute is now officially my writing space. see above.)

4) reduce my use of cell phone to bear necessities (... the simple bear necessities...), i.e. being stuck alone on a dark road at night in the middle of b.f.nowhere with a flat tyre and a broken leg OR being in my bath and wanting Marc who is sitting on the couch downstairs to make and bring me a cup of tea (just kidding...); the jury is still out on whether sms is legal, but in any case, at all times when not used, cell must be switched off;

5) no more meat. yes, i am finally ready to go vegetarian level 1;

6) no more manipulating of my children, i.e. out with all bribes and threats (if i manage this one for 40 days, i will officially crown myself mum of the year);

there, that leaves three empty slots for brilliant ideas to occur as we go. and now onwards ho! which one should i start with? meat? nah... too hard in the middle of winter... sugar? nah... even harder in the middle of winter... writing? nah... too cramped from cold in the middle of winter... ...

copy-cat

i was working at home today, on a translation of a level of boredom (or rather boringness) as yet unachieved, when i saw these. so breathtakingly beautiful. spent next two hours feeling sorry for myself for being stuck inside in front of the computer, while others got to take lovely walks in frost-covered countryside, and take fantastic photographs to boot. sometime in the third hour i figured i could also get off my ass and take my break-deserving body out for a stroll. turns out our neighbourhood looks frosty good too...

candle snuffer

she reminds me of the Street Lighter in the Little Prince, who "turns on and off the street light that he has on his planet. Whenever he turns the light on, a new life is born, and the sun rises. Whenever he turns off the light, someone dies, and the sun sets."

last time

there she is, my sweet. on her very last day at the crèche. in the car on the way to Leiden, she was singing 'als je van beren leren kan, van slimme beren leren kan, is dat iets wat je echt proberen moet... want hoe je profiteren kan, daar weten beren veel meer van, en beren zijn als leraar beregoed!' (song of Balloo from the Jungle Book). until she stopped because she fell asleep. just like that, half-way through a line. boink went her head on her chest. you can see the print of her coat's zipper on her cheek, that's because there is a rather sharp turning roundabout five hundred metres before the crèche, and her head lolled over to the other side. she is wearing my very favourite hat (the infamous baklava, also known as 'cagoule' in one of the places i come from), and i am lapping it up because i know deep down that this is the very last winter that my will concerning hat-wearing shall prevail, and i will hereafter never see it on her again. you can't tell from the photograph, but in her hand she is clutching a shoeless, crownless (that way we can't lose them, mama!) pink barbie (i know, i know, how the f'... did that happen????). her last day at the crèche. she made herself a paper crown, distributed raisin boxes and balloons, and then stood on a chair while all the children sang for her. she was so excited, not one bit sad. so i get to be sad for her. for drives together in the morning that shall be driven no more, for time passing, for baklava hats getting lost in the cupboards of life, and little girls growing up.

the truth about christmas crafting

is that it isn't always idyllic. the day had begun badly: we had to go to the townhall to pick up an important document that was supposed to have been sent to Chile weeks ago, and in fact had been, but had failed to arrive, and now it was all really urgent, and the weather dreadfully cold, so i'd bundled us all up to the nines, Isabelle even wore her baklava hat, which is not pink and has no flowers (just to give you an indication of the direness (not a word...) of the situation), and we had to rush, i made her run all the way because i thought they were shutting at 12:00, it was 11:55, but of course they were open till 14:00, and it was crowded as hell, and equally hot, so the baby woke up, he was sweating and screaming, and the baklava girl had cheeks the colour of red balloons, and she was hanging on my coat saying 'i am tired mama, i am tired, can you carry me?' and the baby screaming so loud, i couldn't hear the grinding of my own teeth. anyway. we finally got the document, rushed off to the post office. equally busy. equally hot. waited. some wailing. some gnashing. some hanging limp. it was almost our turn when i realised i hadn't filled in the document yet. was about to start scribbling like mad, but then remembered it had to be done in BLACk pen. not blue. not pink (as kindly suggested by baklava girl). black. started begging around for black pen. entire post-office did not possess a single black pen (not even one i could buy, i was so far gone by then, i would have bought a box of 100 if they'd had them, and screw the no-buying year) (the baby was still wailing...). rushed off outside, ran to the kringloop shop next door, entire kringloop shop did not have black pen either. ran back out onto the street and straight into the extremely beautiful, extremely unapproachable mother-of-two who lives down the street. actually forgot all about terrible shyness and feeling of awe and made her empty her purse on the street in search of black pen. extremely beautiful woman now known forever and ever as the Angel-of-the-black-pen. back to the post-office. scribbled. waited. sent the document. back out into the cold. it started snowing. and blizzarding (not a word). baby stopped wailing from the shock of the cold wind, which made me think it might be a great idea (WAS i thinking??????) to run past a few shops on the way (well, sort of on the way, in any case not altogether at the other end of town) home. never made it to any shop because baby resumed wailing, having gotten over shock. came home. stumbled and fell off the stairs (only three steps). scratched my hand open with my own nail. almost threw hysterical baby out of the windoww. sat down. and decided it was time for some fun christmas crafting.

one thing. one thing off my list was going to be a success today. just this one thing would work out perfectly. exactly as i had imagined it. so we sat there crafting, the two of us (wailing baby no longer wailing but eating own hand on the floor in empty attempt at communicating ravenous hunger). both of us quiet and watchful. me trying to pacify the dragon inside. she lest the dragon spit her way. but then she forgot about the dragon, just a little. because there were pink feathers, and purple ones. 'mama, can we put those in too?'. 'of course bloody not!!!!', roared the dragon inside, 'who ever heard of pink and purple feathers on a christmas wreath???'. but i did not let the dragon speak this time. instead i ran my hand through her hair. 'of course we can, sweetie, of course we can'. picked up the hungry baby. fed it. and the day kept on its slow rolling motion beneath our feet.

an angel at my table

Antoine by night

the birthday girl... i mean princess

successful

i managed to (almost) completely resist the cultural pressure to run around playing the role of 'gentil organisateur' at my four-year-old daughter's birthday party. yes, that is what the Dutch do, although it probably won't surprise any of you Anglo-Saxons out there, so i am leaving it to the Belgo-Franco-Russians to be shocked and stupefied at the thought. instead i invited the parents stay, let the children run around, offered cake and soup and (this is the bit where i caved...) sort of ran a mini crafting session with the wee ones, making wooden clothespin dolls (i had been dying to try it myself, which made the caving feeling ever so much more bearable...). it was fantastic: no preparatory stress. no hang-over. great soup (though i say so myself). and most importantly: the birthday girl loved it!

dutch skies

mother of two

jungle stories

thanks to Albert Heijn and my mother-in-law we have acquired most of the Jungle Book characters. not being familiar with the movie/story, Isabelle has had to create her own. so here is Mowgli doing her yoga routine (she stole Shanti's skirt because it goes so well with her blue shirt):

and there is Kin Louie, the girly ape:

Marc: weet je wel wat 'King' betekent?
Isabelle: Ja, kijk (pointing at the ape's chin), haar kinnetje, Kin Louie!

(I know it's my fault for telling her that all main characters in all stories are girls, but i have made my peace with this fact too).

draught snake

it's been windy here (and i mean indoors), so i decided to overcome my fear of the sewing machine (i am seized by an irrational terror of that thing whenever i stop using it for longer than a few days/weeks/months) by making a bunch of draught snakes, figuring it was all straight seams and a bit of rice. my inner critic (i have been practicing giving her the floor to avoid the shouting in my ear) would like me to inform you, for honesty's sake, that not a single one of the seams is in fact straight. i have made my peace with this fact. the snakes look great and it's now distinctly less windy in the living-room (although there is a lot more rice on the floor) (did i mention that i simply hate the noise of the vacuum cleaner?) (... and my inner critic has a lot to say about this too, but unfortunately she's had her turn for tonight).